


All This Time

by TheMorningGlory



Category: Riverdale (TV 2017)
Genre: Academia, Alternate Universe, And he writes swoon-worthy poems, Betty Cooper Loves Jughead Jones, Betty and Jughead are waiting on college acceptance letters, Betty has her sights set on Vassar, But Jughead is still...Jughead, College Admissions, Do they want the same thing?, Emotional, F/M, Falling In Love, Friendship/Love, He's traded the beanie for a leather jacket and doc martens, I don't want to spoil too much, Jughead Jones Loves Betty Cooper, Jughead Jones in Love, Jughead is on a kind of journey, Jughead is young and in love...and is now quite the poet, Looking to the Future, Prep School AU, Religious Content, Religious Imagery & Symbolism, Religious Themes, Tender romance, The characters have grown a lot since freshman year, Will Betty and Jughead stay together?, Writer Jughead Jones, coffee shop convos, contemplative Jughead, prep school bughead, religious motifs
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-14
Updated: 2021-03-15
Packaged: 2021-03-22 12:47:55
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 15,564
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/30038928
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheMorningGlory/pseuds/TheMorningGlory
Summary: He stands at the edge of the pool and stares at his reflection.There is a sad, tired expression in his eyes, but it isn’t that. It’s the fact that there’s a part of him that doesn’t really feel worthy of Betty. Deep down there is always going to be a part of him that thinks he isn’t good enough for her.His exterior has changed quite a lot since he started school. His features especially have sharpened quite a bit which he attributes to, for lack of a better term, growing into a man. It’s no secret that more women have been paying attention to him recently, but he knows the looks they give him are fleeting – they’re only looking on the outside. He knows that if they could really see into his soul, they would see the real him, insecurities and all. And yes, like most boasting great academic achievements, that, and now, he surmises, the way he looks, are merely things to hide behind.___Coda To "I Still Believe."
Relationships: Betty Cooper & Jughead Jones, Betty Cooper/Jughead Jones
Comments: 1
Kudos: 12





	1. beauty for ashes

He saw himself as through a glass, darkly...

* * *

_Do flowers smile?_

Jughead grins as he writes that last line. He’s sitting on a bench outside of the school’s chapel, Gloire Du Matin, writing in his spiral. He’s waiting for Betty – waiting for her to take his breath away. He’s dreaming of course, dreaming of what could be once they both graduate. 

But for now, he’ll settle for penning the occasional poem – or three – about daisies.

Betty is, of course, the daisy. So, when he writes about the flowers marrying the hillside with their white petals, well –

He grins. He’s been reading Solomon’s Song of Songs a lot lately. Like, late into the night, and, wow, if anyone knew how much I love this what would they say kind of late. It was one of those things he read initially for class, but soon found himself drawn to, much like the other novels and short stories he’s read over the course of his time as a student there. So, he reasons that he’s been more than a little inspired to pen his own love ballad. But he’s not about to tell anyone else that. Not even his professor, who has already asked him to be a teaching assistant for her because of his affinity for literature. So, for now, his poems will stay just that – silent sonnets in his own personal spiral.

Jughead tears his gaze from the page and looks upwards. He stares at his own reflection in the clerestory window, studying the subtle changes in his appearance that have occurred in the last four years. He looks different somehow, older. He’s certainly grown taller – at six foot two, he’s hardly the diminutive adolescent he was once. He sweeps his dark hair away from his face and out of his eyes and looks at the window again. The seat next to his is noticeably vacant – Betty’s seat. Once she’s done with class, they’ll be waiting there together for the doors to open for the morning service. But, until then, he’ll be writing and waiting – _waiting_ for their last semester at Stonewall to end.

Waiting. 

Everything feels like that at this age – everything. 

He goes back to writing. The leaves on the trees tiptoe around his leather boots, moving wherever the window blows them. It’s nearly springtime now, and while most are hoping for warmer weather, there is still a lingering bit of winter in the air; it hits him all at once as the leaves fly past his heels and pool beneath the door of the chapel as the wind ripples across the grass. 

Jughead shivers. He pulls his leather jacket around his uniform, his dad’s jacket. The last time he saw him, it was late December, and he went only because Betty was insistent. He drove his motorcycle nearly twenty miles uptown before stopping in front of his dad’s old trailer, lingering outside as the snow fell all around him. He swallowed the cool air as he trekked up the driveway and held it in just a little longer once inside. Later, after a light conversation and a brief hug, FP bestowed the leather coat to him as a coming-of-age gift. He had ascertained that it was his was his way of passing on the torch – extending an olive branch to him so to speak. At any rate, Jughead decided, it was better than nothing, and as FP explained, his dad had done the same for him when he was his age, so he couldn’t very well say no.

Jughead sighs heavily. Although things haven’t always been the best with his father, they have improved since he started going to school here. So that, at least, is something.

Luckily, he never was one for small talk. Or getting too attached. That is until her.

He tucks a few stray hairs behind his ear and writes the following line.

_Her hair was covered in a crown of laurels and daises._

He exhales and begins again.

_The daises crowned the mountain top. It was nearly springtime, then, when the mountain moved out from its hiding place beneath the trees and hills, bowing down as it picked up its beautiful bride of spring and placed it atop its highest point. It rested then, allowing the flowers and leaves to bloom anew as the two became one._

He punctuates the sentence and sighs longingly. He skims his lower lip with his thumb and thinks about what else to say. Of course he wants to marry her. He is only nineteen after all, but, when you know you know. He has never been surer of anything in his life, which is why he’s waiting.

His thoughts are interrupted by the unmistakable sound of footsteps walking in the field nearby.

“Grabbed you a coffee,” a cheery voice says behind him.

Jughead looks up. He sees her reflection in the mirror in front of the chapel and turns around.

She smiles and, once again, takes his breath away.

“Hope you like extra sugar,” she says teasingly, walking up the steps to sit beside him.

“No, but you do.”

“Precisely.” Betty takes a giant swig and hands it to him.

“Betty.” He puts his spiral down. “There’s lipstick on the lid.”

She shrugs. “Same difference.”

He grins and shakes his head.

Betty sits down and grabs his spiral beside him, reading the last few lines curiously, trying to discern their meaning. “Why are you always writing about flowers?” she inquires.

“I write about the things I care about and what inspires me.”

“I’ve never seen flowers in your dorm or your office, though. And you’ve never really seemed into paintings,” she adds.

“You don’t have to possess something to be inspired by it.”

“I suppose not, but I still don’t know what it means. Why won’t you tell me?”

“Because then we would be having a very different conversation, and then you would have to answer something.”

“Me? I don’t understand.” She scrunches her nose and grins. “Why are you being so cryptic?”

“I’m a writer,” he replies. “Nebulosity is our specialty.”

Betty can read between the lines. She raises her eyebrows. “I thought you said that the hallmark of a good writer is someone who writes both succinctly and clearly.”

“I…might have said that,” he says. “At least, at some point or another.”

“So, you’re breaking your own rules?”

“ _Betty_.” 

She hands his notebook back to him. “I pay attention to what you say, Jug.”

His voice is softer this time. “I know.”

She smiles.

“Anyways,” he quickly changes the subject, nodding at the chapel doors as their opened. “We should probably go inside.”

“Want to study afterwards?”

“I just assumed we were.” He smirks and takes a sip of coffee.

When they stand, he looks in the window again. There, with her beside him, framed in its reflection, he thinks, is a complete picture. 

They step inside and sit in the same seats – and same row – they always sit in.

They have been doing this for nearly four years now, after all.

A tune that sounds uncannily like Cohen’s Hallelujah is playing from the organ up ahead, the instrumental version only, and when they sit down Jughead thinks of the first time he was in here. Everything was so uncertain. Everything except her. 

She smiles and he knows, now, that he had better cut to the chase.

Because the path he’s on has only two courses. One has daisies on every side. And the other feels like a parched parcel of land where dreams were planted – they tried to sprout but withered and died – died when the daisies refused to be planted there.

As the bishop takes his position at the nave, motioning for the students to stand, Betty squeezes his hand amiably and they stand for the reading of the word.

.

.

.

.

.

.

The service ends without too much fanfare.

Jughead is all too aware of the fact that their days here are numbered. So, as they walk hand in hand, he relishes in crushing the ice on the sidewalks beneath his boots, taking it all in as they head in the direction of Betty’s dorm. Part of him thinks that if he takes longer, faster strides, then maybe, just maybe, he can make the moments where they hang out together last just a little bit longer. But like most things in life, you can’t really see the end until your well past it.

When Jughead turns his head to steal a glance at the tiny chapel, he takes a mental snapshot of how it looks as the morning sun reaches the edge of the grass. He tells himself to remember this moment in case he forgets to look again later. This, he decides, is how he wants to remember the tiny chapel: bright, and full of light. He sighs and turns around, meeting Betty’s eyes with his. She smiles and squeezes his hand, unaware of the fact that he is memorizing everything just in case: the grass, the field – her look, her smile – everything.

They pass a few old buildings on their way to Betty’s dorm. There is ice on the trees around them, but despite the cool weather, the first buds of spring are beginning to bloom in the grass and the fields. The campus looks like something out of fairytale, frozen in time, but awakening as the heat melts the ice on everything around them.

Betty and Jughead skirt past the main building, and after a few more quick steps, and a collective jog up a flight of marble stairs, they’re inside.

Betty brushes the ice off her sweater and Jughead shakes off a few tiny ice particles from the sleeves of his jacket. Then, they head down the hallway and up the stairs. Once they have passed the commons room, they head down another hallway and walk to its end. Betty throws open the door to her dorm room, kicks a stopper into the corner, and pushes the door against the wall. She keeps the door open so that some of the heat from the commons room can hopefully find its way down to the end of the hallway and into her room. Plus, there is the unspoken rule that students are not to be in each other’s dorms after dark. And while it’s not dark, technically, Betty really doesn’t want to contend with the resident assistant that lives down the hallway. That, and she’s always been a stickler for the rules anyways.

Jughead makes a beeline for Betty’s bed, which is, of course, pristinely made. He sloughs off his leather jacket and tucks it around the white chair that Betty uses at her vanity, a repurposed Victorian antique that she and Jughead found at a flea market two summers ago. They painted it together that summer outside in the heat of the day, and Jughead swears he can still smell the lingering scent of paint varnish every time he gets near it. But it made her happy, and that he reasoned, was all that mattered. He throws his backpack onto the ground, unzips it in the front, and grabs a dogeared copy of the novel he’s reading for English lit – Bleak House – and pushes his back against the headboard. He crosses his legs together, grins, and tucks a hand behind his head.

Betty almost doesn’t catch him – almost.

“Jughead,” she says suddenly.

“What?” He grins, knowing exactly what she is referring to.

“No shoes on the bed!”

Jughead uncrosses his legs. “I didn’t think you’d notice,” he says pointedly.

“I did notice, and yet you still do this every time.”

“I do it in the hopes that there will be just one day you won’t.”

Betty crosses her arms and frowns.

“Taking them off now,” he murmurs. “Sheesh, Betts.”

“Good.” She turns around and goes back to reading emails on her laptop.

Jughead yanks his leather boots from his feet and tosses them into the nearest corner. They still with a loud thud. Jughead runs his hands through his hair and sits back on the bed again. He grins and goes back to reading. He gets through about a page and a half of the novel when he’s startled by what sounds like Betty going into a full-blown panic attack without any warning or context. When he looks up, he notices that she is waving her hands around like she’s seen a spider, or like something has crawled out from beneath her desk.

“Betty?” He sets the book down and sits up.

“It came a week early!” she shouts.

“What did?”

Oh.

It is no secret that everyone at Stonewall Prep has been waiting with bated breath for the first batch early admissions from the Ivies to come out, including the equally competitive “Little Ivies.” One of the students who lives across the hall from Jughead, an erudite exchange student from Eastern Europe, Piotr, told him that he woke up in panic several times a night just to check it on his phone, only to be disappointed each hour when he didn’t receive anything, not even a rejection. He subsequently claimed that the experience in its entirety caused his eyes to twitch for a week, blaming the unfortunate side effect on the stress of the unknown. 

He swallows. Jughead knows that he also is about to get some very big news – lifechanging news that has the potential to alter his entire future in a big way, for better or worse.

Betty takes a deep breath. “I don’t want to open it.”

“Betty.” He tries to remain calm. “You have to. We’ve been waiting for this.” 

We.

He wonders if there will even be a we after this.

She puts her hands on her forehead. “I don’t know if I can do this.”

Jughead is trying not to panic. “You have to check it, Betts. We both do.”

She looks at him.

“If not now, then when?”

“I know.” She exhales. “Your right, of course your right.”

He sits back down on the bed and looks at her. “Do you want to open it at the same time? I can get my laptop.”

“Wait.” She scoops her laptop up and walks over to the bed.

“Here.” He flips it open and powers his computer on. 

She sits beside him and places the laptop in her lap. 

“Ready?” He looks at her.

She bites her lower lip. “Jug, I don’t know if I can do this.”

“Do you want me to go first?”

“Would you?”

“I…yeah.” He nods. “Yeah, okay.”

Jughead swallows. He sucks in his breath and clicks on the email. His eyes skim the first few lines as he scrolls down. “Found it.”

Betty sits very still and studies his expression as he opens the email and scrolls down.

“I…oh.” His eyes widen.

“What?” she whispers.

He looks up. “I can’t believe it.” 

“Jug, what is it?”

“I got in.”

She gasps audibly.

“I got a full ride. My tuition is paid for and everything. I can’t believe this.”

“Let me see!”

Jughead passes his laptop to her.

Betty stares at the screen that confirms what he’s just told her. “Jug, that’s amazing.”

He quickly snatches the laptop from her. “Open yours!”

“Okay,” she says, eagerly opening her email.

He waits.

“I…oh.”

“What?”

“Oh no.” She stares at the screen.

“Betts,” he says. “What is it?”

She shuts her eyes. “I didn’t get in.”

Of all the scenarios Jughead pictured, this was not at all how he assumed this would go, not even close.

Betty looks at him like she is about to cry. “Oh Jug,” her voice breaks, “what am I going to do?”

In this moment, all Jughead can think to do is hold her hand. So, he does. “It’s going to be okay.”

.

.

.

.

.

.

Later that evening, the sun sets with little regard to anyone’s personal tragedies.

Elizabeth Cooper is no exception.

Jughead checks on her once just to ensure she is doing okay – at least, as much as can be expected. He finds her asleep at her desk, so he turns the lamp on her desk off, and drapes a blanket over her shoulders. He leaves just as the sun is setting and the night falls across the campus, blanketing the garden and buildings in an ethereal shade of blue.

Now that the world is effectively asleep, his world anyways, Jughead decides to take a stroll around the campus to clear his head.

He marvels at how quickly the sky grows dark as the stars begin to sparkle beneath the moon.

He walks past the main building and enters a clearing made of trees. The oaks are so tall that he feels like he is walking inside of a wooden archway. The tree leaves and branches cast lattice-like patterns on the ground, and as he walks, he feels as though he is following a path forged just for him. There is a single lamp up ahead, and as Jughead heads towards the light, a few fireflies brush past his face, tickling his nose and the edge of his cheeks with their delicate wings. He pauses at the light, running a hand through his dark hair. He stares into the distance and sees a field down in the valley below. There are several goats and sheep in the pasture there; they belong to the farmer that lives adjacent to the campus. The animals are allowed to run wild come springtime, and as he looks just a little bit further, he sees some of them sitting with a man down in the valley – the farmer, he presumes.

Jughead exhales and looks to his left. There is a large glass building – the student rec center – and directly to its right is the tiny chapel. He decides for posterity’s sake that he might as well have a nighttime memory of the chapel, too, so he heads in that direction. The wind whips past him, encircling his feet as he walks. All at once an extreme burst of wind from the North hits his face, his nose, and eyes, and he walks just a little bit faster, jogging down the hill until his shoes meet the sidewalk below, stopping only when his footing is sure. He looks to the left, then to the right, and crosses the street.

He jogs up the steps of the chapel, stops, takes a breath and looks around him. There is no one around. He can hear the crickets chirping noisily in the grass, and as he pulls open the door handle to the building, he holds his breath.

The air inside the chapel smells like roses and fragrant musk.

He looks to his right and notices that there are several tiny white candles lit on a metal stand. He lets the door go and it comes to a halt, creaking ever so slightly as the hinges near the doorframe meet and click shut.

Jughead runs his hands through his black hair and lets out a loud sigh. He stares at the nave up ahead. There is a large candelabra burning at its center, and as he takes a few calculated steps in its direction, his boots clunk noisily against the wooden flooring. Once he gets closer, the candle flames flicker as the vibration from his steps shake the floorboards.

He stops. He turns around and stares at the door, studying it. This would be a nice place to have a wedding, he thinks to himself, if he were, well, engaged. 

He raises his eyebrows at the thought, wondering where that even came from.

He runs his palm over his face and goes over to a nearby bench to sit. When he turns to his left, he looks outside the clerestory window and sees the stars up ahead. The sky is dark now, but not so dark as to be unable to see the veil of blue behind the skyline. He swears that the stars themselves look a bit like flecks of gold at the edge of a large piece of lapis orbiting the heavenlies. He likes the idea, so he pulls his notebook from his pocket and quickly jots it down for later. Then he sticks the notepad in pocket of his leather jacket and looks at the front of the chapel again. 

_Why am I even here?_ He thinks.

Jughead turns around and stares at the prayer box in the back. He sighs and begins talking to himself, sort of.

“I’ve never really been good at this,” he admits. “But I guess if I were to ask for anything, I would ask for Betty and I to be able to be together forever, although I’m not too sure how that’s even possibly now considering that I got into Vassar and she didn’t.” He sighs to himself. “But if it were possible and you can actually here me, that’s what I want.” He runs his palms across the length of his jeans and blows his hair away from his face. 

A long, cool breeze follows his words. It comes from nowhere suddenly and brushes against his side and back. Then it moves around him and goes somewhere.

Jughead raises his eyebrows and looks around. “Hello?” he says uncertainly, worrying about the response that might soon follow.

Silence.

He looks over his shoulder and sees that a window nearby has blown open suddenly, and that, he reasons, is why there was a mysterious breeze from nowhere. 

At least, he hopes that is why.

Otherwise, that would mean that someone really did hear his every word and he would probably be having a vastly different conversation right about now – that or fleeing the chapel for his life. 

He gets up from the chair and makes his way over to the prayer box. He stops in front of it. He’s thinking. “This worked the last time,” he says aloud, shrugging. “Why not.”

He fishes his notebook out of his pocket, rips a piece of paper from its edge and writes the following lines:

_God,_

_Not that you need me to introduce myself, but it feels weird writing this without the proper formalities. My request is simple._

_Ideally, I would like Betty and I to attend the same school together._

He pauses, then, considering what else he really wants. He looks over at the door and pictures Betty walking through it on their wedding day. Everyone would stand as she entered, and he, who would be standing at the front, waiting, would turn around as she took his breath away. Even though he has seen her a thousand times, he would still have that visceral reaction – he knows he would. So, he adds at the end of the note.

_Because, someday, I want her to be my wife._

_J.J._

He folds the paper and creases it. Then, without too much hesitation he puts it through the slot in the prayer box, letting the paper go before he has a chance to change his mind.

“There,” he says aloud. 

Suddenly, he gets chills up and down his body. Then, in his hands. In fact, this moment feels so much like how it did four years ago that he glances at the window nearby to ensure that he is still himself and not sixteen again. When he sees his reflection and sees that he is six foot two and is no longer wearing a beanie, he sighs in relief. 

He gives the place one final look before shutting the doors behind him. He hurries out of the chapel and heads over to the gymnasium. It begins to sprinkle right as he reaches the steps of the rec center, which houses the gym and a pool. He pulls his leather jacket over his head, grabs the handle that leads to the atrium, and hurries inside. 

The rain outside stops intermittently, but that does nothing to stop his insides from feeling like a veritable flood. With everything that has transpired, he decides that the only way to quell his nerves is with a bit of exercise. And lately, not that he’s ever been one to pound the iron, he has been exercising far more than he ever imagined he would. Archie is to blame, of course. He convinced Jughead right after the holidays that a bit of light exercise would help his concentration and the occasional writer’s block, so Jughead followed his lead. 

He heads over to the lockers and grabs his swimsuit from the bottom rack. He can hear the sound of the generator in a room nearby; it hums as it circulates electricity throughout the building. Jughead appreciates the white noise because, as far as he can tell, he is basically alone right now. He sighs and listens as the rain pelt against the window above the lockers. The sound of the drizzle is lulling and mild, and it dissipates just as quickly as it came. Jughead hangs his jacket on the coat rack and quickly changes into his suit. Then, he heads down the hall to where the swimming pool is located.

Jughead is grateful that he can swim alone tonight. At any rate, he doesn’t need the company – not when he is trying to process his emotions. Plus, he really needs to think about the fact that he decided beyond a shadow of a doubt tonight that he wants to be with Betty forever.

He stands at the edge of the pool and stares at his reflection.

There is a sad, tired expression in his eyes, but it isn’t that. It’s the fact that there’s a part of him that doesn’t really feel worthy of Betty. Deep down there is always going to be a part of him that thinks he isn’t good enough for her.

His exterior has changed quite a lot since he started school. His features especially have sharpened quite a bit which he attributes to, for lack of a better term, growing into a man. It’s no secret that more women have been paying attention to him recently, but he knows the looks they give him are fleeting – they’re only looking on the outside. He knows that if they could really see into his soul, they would see the real him, insecurities and all. And yes, like most boasting great academic achievements, that, and now, he surmises, the way he looks, are merely things to hide behind. 

At any rate, he would not be the first person who has used their looks or achievements to mask something painful or to make up for a perceived weakness or flaw.

But he’s never been too concerned about those things anyways.

Plus, he only has eyes for Betty. 

He dips his foot into the edge of the pool, hoping the water isn’t cold. It’s warm, thankfully, so he proceeds to plunge headlong into the vat of blue water, causing it to ripple around its edges as he’s fully submerged within it.

He reemerges from the water swiftly, exhaling as he pulls his body from the watery grave. He runs his hands through his black hair and sweeps it out of his face so that he can look around the room. There is an oblong glass window at the edge of the pool that reminds him of the clerestory windows in the chapel. He assumes they were made by the same builder, and as he stares into the night, he sees the farmer in the distance shepherding his sheep and goats up the hill as they run into the fields beneath the stars. Jughead likens the imagery to a bucolic painting, and as he looks at the stars in the night sky, he wonders if the man can see him the same way he is seeing him.

He swims a few laps around the pool before stopping and staring out the window again. He catches his breath and stares at his reflection. He thinks his face looks different, brighter somehow, but he attributes the change to the water waking up his blood vessels. 

He begins swimming again, doing a few swift laps around the edge of the pool. He only stops when thinks he hears something. He treads water in the middle of the pool, listening and waiting for the sound again. When he doesn’t hear anything, he’s about to start swimming again when he hears what sounds like an echo coming from inside of him.

_Ask Betty to marry you._

He stills.

He thinks of all the reasons that he can’t do that.

The worlds against them, all that jazz.

But the desire is still there. 

It lingers like the sting of a bee and the smell of roses in the summertime, sweltering in the heat as the petals wilt beneath the sun, and their fragrance, whilst they die, becomes stronger and stronger.

Jughead sighs.

Despite the circumstances and odds, he does want to ask her – badly.

Plus, he thinks, they are still waiting on a few more acceptances, so, technically, this is not set in stone – yet. 

_Right?_

Jughead swallows. He thinks of the logistics of such a thing. How would he even pull that off? Where would he get a ring? Would she…laugh at him. 

He thinks the stress of graduating has now officially gone to his head.

He plunges his head back underwater and thinks he had better just forget it.

A little while later, after he’s swam the equivalent of a mile and a half in laps, Jughead gets out of the pool. He hoists himself upwards and pulls his body out of the water using the metal ladder attached at its end. Although the room isn’t cold per se, he still shivers when he gets out. He can feel the tingle of goosebumps on his arms and legs as he runs his hands through his black hair; his skin feels electric, and his heart is still beating from the workout he just did.

For reasons he can’t quite explain or put his finger on, he is feeling just a little more courageous than usual. He likens his swim in the pool to a dip in the pool at Bethesda: he dove in paralyzed by fear, only to emerge loosed from whatever was holding him back. 

His own fear. Fear of rejection. Fear of the unknown. Himself.

He grins and runs down the hallway to take a shower.

He has something to ask Betty.

.

.

.

.

.

.

Dawn breaks and the sun sweeps across the hill; it colors the trees on the leaves and the grass, brightening them with its rays. The light bleeds into the sidewalk, causing the cement walkways that lead to the chapel and the rest of the campus to light up like paths of gold. Once the light hits the main campus and the dorms in the surrounding area, it stills at the edge of each building, emitting just enough sunlight to wake up the sleeping inhabitants in the dorms.

The campus is asleep, but Betty is awake. 

And so is Jughead.

He passes by the main building, breathing in the morning air as the dew and the breeze brush against his hair and cheeks. It feels cool this morning, but not so cold as to not be enjoyable. He passes by several trees along his way – southern magnolias, and a few long, tall oaks. His body brushes past several confederate rose bushes that are ready to bud any day now.

He grins as he runs up the steps of the building that lead to Betty’s dorm. He passes the resident assistant in the hallway as he walks. The female student, who is a year older than he is, yawns and gives him a casual wave as she powers her laptop on.

“Hey, Midge.”

“Hey,” she says sleepily.

Jughead runs up several flights of stairs and walks down to the hallway that leads to Betty’s dorm. He stands in front of her door for a minute, thinking. He knocks twice, then waits.

After a few seconds, Betty answers the door.

He can tell she’s been crying.

“Can I come in, Betts?”

She nods and wipes the tears from her face. “I barely slept.”

Jughead shuts the door quietly behind them. “I figured as much.”

She turns around to face him and starts to cry again. “My parents don’t know yet,” she whispers. “No one does.”

He takes a step closer to her. “Hey.” His voice is soft and gentle. “You don’t need to worry about them right now, okay?”

She nods.

Jughead pulls her face close to his and cradles it in his hands. “I’ve got a plan,” he whispers to her, sweeping away the tears on her face with his thumbs. “Do you trust me?”

She sniffles. “What plan?”

“A plan to fix things.”

“But how?”

“When have I ever let you down before?” he retorts.

“You haven’t.”

“So, do you trust me? Do you trust this is going to work out for us?”

Betty appears to be thinking this over. “I mean, I don’t see how…” She begins to cry again.

“Betts,” he says softly, “please don’t cry.”

Their faces are so close now that they are nearly touching. Sunlight streams into the room from the outside and onto their faces. Betty looks at him and he just might kiss her – she blinks.

Jughead presses his forehead against hers. “Do you trust me?” he whispers.

She nods. “Yes.”

“Good.” He lets go of her face and tucks strand of hair beneath her ear. “I’m going to be gone for a couple of hours today, but I’ll be back later.” 

“Where are you going?”

He grins. “I can’t tell you. You’ll just have to trust me, okay?”

She smiles. “Why are you being so mysterious?”

“It’s part of my charm.”

Betty laughs. “What?”

“I’ll see you later, okay.”

“Okay.”

He grins and slips out the door.

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Jughead exits the dorm the same way he came in.

His hands are in his pockets as he heads over to the parking lot – he’s thinking.

He’s decided to go into town and see if he can find a ring that he can actually afford. He’s never been a big spender, and most of his paycheck as senior editor of the school newspaper has been going into his savings since day one, so there’s that.

There is always a chance that she could say no. He can already hear her telling him that they’re too young, and that they should wait just a little bit longer.

In the end, he decides it’s worth the risk.

Jughead walks to the other end of the building where the parking lot is and swipes the helmet from the seat of his motorcycle. His combs his hair away from his face and pushes it down onto his head. After a swift kick to the pedal, he revs up the engine and he’s off. 

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The town closest to Stonewall Prep, Bethel Bridge, is one of those little places that has just enough money to have modern day amenities, but not enough advertising to make it a destination spot – at least, not yet. 

It has a couple of antique shops owned by the locals, who are mostly wealthy retirees, and few hole-in-the-wall dining restaurants ran by a very well-do-couple, both of which attended culinary school in a town in France that Jughead can’t quite pronounce.

It’s also a great place for a date, and on the rare occasion that Betty and Jughead had the opportunity to get out, this was always their go-to spot. 

So, he reasons, it is probably going to have something by way of jewelry that Betty would like.

The last date they had in the town – way back in September – Jughead and Betty hiked up the hill alongside the creek that runs adjacent to the town. The view, which was even better than they expected, made the town look like an O’Keefe painting. As the sun set and the colors blurred together, they held hands and stared at the town below. The lights outside each shop blinked on as the moon crept up from beyond the hill, shifting the colors in the skyline from fire to ice.

After staring at the sky for what felt like forever, Betty tugged him back down the hill. They went back to campus on his motorcycle, riding against the night as the wind held them there, tethered together. He parked at the edge of the lot and she kissed him on the cheek before running back inside, leaving him outside holding his palm to his face, grinning beneath the stars and sky.

His face felt cool, but his insides were ablaze with sheer ecstasy and radiant happiness.

He remembers this as he walks down the sidewalk; he touches his palm to his cheeks without thinking and grins. 

The stores in town are just beginning to open now, and an elderly woman kicks open the door to a local coffee shop, Eliana’s Java House. The woman turns the sign on the door so that it now says, “open.” She smiles at him and goes back inside. 

Never one to say no to a hot cup of coffee, Jughead follows the aroma until he is standing inside the coffee shop. He orders a tall coffee, black. He pays for it and adds a generous lump of sugar at the counter.

“Let me know if you need anything else,” the woman says amiably.

“I will.” He smiles politely. “Thanks.”

The woman goes back to brewing coffee behind the counter, and Jughead blows on the warm cup of coffee before replacing the lid. A few people begin trickling in as he takes his first sip. It tastes warm against the back of his throat, and as the hot liquid goes down, he takes another sip, then another. He is just about to leave the coffee shop when he has a thought.

He turns around and looks back at the woman behind the counter. “Excuse me,” he says politely.

She turns the nob on an expresso machine. “Do you need some cream? Let me get it for you.”

“Cream?” He looks down at his coffee cup. “Oh.” He grins. “No, I prefer it this way. I was actually wondering if you could tell me where the nearest jewelry store is.”

She raises her eyebrows. “Jewelry?”

He realizes now how weird this probably looks, someone his age shopping for jewelry at the crack of dawn. “Yes. I’m looking to buy something special for someone.”

She smiles. “I do.” She taps a flat button on the expresso machine. “Go to Solomon’s. It’s down the block and past the shoe store.”

“Thanks.”

The woman goes back to making coffee and he wanders outside.

The air smells, quite literally, like it has been washed clean. As Jughead takes it all in, the breeze outside sways with the trees. He can smell the faintest hint of cedar in the air, and as he walks, he catches as whiff of something that smells like vanilla and florals. There are honeysuckle bushes beside the walkway, and as he walks, he takes a couple of sips of coffee, taking it all in. The rooftops above each shop shine as the sun hits the shingles, and when he stares at the sky, he feels like he is somewhere else entirely. It looks like a place he would want to live someday: quiet, but definitely not boring.

Once he is done drinking his coffee, he disposes of the coffee cup and wanders down the road.

Windchimes outside a store window sway in the breeze. He can see the mountains up ahead, and the trail he and Betty hiked to get there. There are flowers on the hillside now, peeking up and around the canyon like tiny bursts of white.

He locates Solomon’s without too much trouble, passing the shoe store on his left before coming face to face with the storefront. He stares at its sign curiously: Solomon’s Antique’s. It doesn’t look like a jewelry store, but, nevertheless, he goes inside, trusting the recommendation of the elderly woman at the coffeeshop who was wearing quite a bit of fine jewelry.

The bell above the door tinkles as he pushes it in.

“Hello?” he says uncertainly.

He steps inside and the first thing he notices are rows and rows of antique books – The Silver Chalice, Sironia, Raintree County – he sees, quite literally, everything. Beside the long rows of books are several smaller shelves that have various pieces of pottery on them – some antique, some modern. A few of them appear to be unfinished and others are so ornate that he is almost certain they would cost a fortune just to obtain. 

There is a jewelry case at the front of the store that looks like it was, at one time, quite costly. He wonders if the owner bought it at an estate sale because he has never seen anything so ornate before. There are animals and flowers carved on every side of it, and tiny, colored gemstones pressed into each leg. On its front there are two pairs of wings on either side, carved into the wood, but pushing out around its edges ever so slightly.

He stares in awe, gaping at the casing as he makes his way towards it. He stops in front of it, peering into the glass where the jewelry is kept. He is just about to touch it when he’s startled by the owner, who emerges from a backroom somewhere on the side of the building.

“Like what you see,” an old man says, chuckling.

He takes a step back. “I’ve never seen anything like this,” he says. “Where is this from?”

“This old thing? It has been in my house for ages.”

Jughead wonders where this old man calls home if this is some of his furniture.

The elderly man smiles. “So,” he says, “what can I do for you?”

“I’m here to look at jewelry.”

“It’s not everyday that I get a student from Stonewall in here,” he says. “What kind of jewelry?”

“How did you know I’m a student there?” Jughead asks curiously.

“Your class ring, among other things.” 

“Oh.” Jughead glances at his ring. “I forgot I was wearing this.” He adjusts the silver ring on his hand and looks up at the man.

“My son is also the academic Dean,” he adds, chuckling.

Jughead stares at him incredulously. “Seriously?”

“Yes, and if you know him, you know me. Anyways,” he says, “I went to Stonewall years ago. I do this as a hobby now. It gives life to us retired folk, but enough about me,” he says, grinning. “What kind of jewelry are you looking for?” 

Jughead never thought the following words would be coming out of his mouth so soon. “I’m looking for an engagement ring,” he says quietly, scratching the back of his head.

The elderly man raises his eyebrows. “Oh?” He smiles.

“It’s for my girlfriend,” he adds.

“Ah,” he says, “well, come over here, I’ll show you what I have.” He motions for Jughead to follow him to the end of the table. “Any particular kind of diamond, or…”

“I know nothing about jewelry,” Jughead admits bluntly.

“You don’t need to,” the man replies, chuckling. “If she loves you, she’ll love anything you buy her.”

He smiles and sighs. “I hope so.”

“What about a white diamond?”

Jughead has no idea what to say. “That…might work.”

“What about this one?” The man reaches into the glass and pulls out a simple, but elegant ring encased in white gold. He hands it to him so Jughead can take a closer look.

“This.” Jughead feels its weight in his hand and examines it closely. “This is exactly what I’m looking for.”

“Excellent choice.”

“How much is it?”

“Before tax its roughly six thousand.”

“Oh.”

“Is that out of your price range? That was my mistake, I should have asked you.”

“Yes,” he admits sadly, “just a bit.” Jughead hands the ring back to him.

The man takes the ring and places it back in the jewelry case. Then, he squints and says to Jughead like he can see right through him, “This young lady,” the man says, “she has to be pretty special to you.”

“She is,” he replies.

The man looks at him like he is trying to ascertain something. “Are you honest?” he says to Jughead.

“I…what? Honest? What do you mean, I…”

“I think you know what I mean,” he says. “Are you doing right by her? Are you treating her well, young man?”

His face is red in less than a second. “I…,” he begins, “yes, I mean, I’ve always treated her well. I love her.”

This answer seems to satisfy him. “Good. Now tell me, young man” he says, “how strong are you?”

Jughead shrugs. “I’d say moderately so.” He wonders what this has to do with the ring. “Why?”

“Because you are a student at my son’s school, I’m going to do something special for you. I just need you to help me with some heavy lifting in the back, I can’t do it on account of my back,” he explains. “But I’m warning you now, it might take all day…”

Jughead doesn’t hesitate. “I’m in,” he says. “What do you need me to do?” He reasons that even getting a slight discount on the ring would be more than worth it.

The man nods at the room behind him. “Follow me.”

They head into the room in the back, which appears to be some sort of storage closet. In one corner, there are piles of boxes stacked from floor to ceiling, and Jughead swears that he has never seen so many boxes in his life. One the back of the wall there is a large shelf housing antiques and collectibles from various countries. Most of the collectibles are very distinct, and even though he has little to no knowledge in the art of antique dealing, it is fairly easy, even for him, to ascertain which continent they’re from. Now he’s wondering what he has gotten himself into.

“These boxes have been sitting here for months,” the man goes on to explain, “and with the back troubles I’ve been having, I can’t really risk moving them. If you can help me move them onto the shelf over there,” he points at it, “I’ll make it worth your while.”

“And all you need me to do is move them?”

“That’s it. Just be careful with the boxes with the red labels on them, those are fragile, but most of them are packed tightly anyways, so you shouldn’t have to worry too much about that.”

“I…can do that.”

“Great. I have a cooler up front if you get thirsty, and there’s a radio on the shelf over there.” The man points to a radio in the corner that looks like it was repurposed from the thirties. “I’m David, by the way,” the elderly man says. He holds out his hand to him to shake it. “I didn’t catch yours.”

“It’s Jughead.” He shakes his hand.

He grins. “Is that a nickname?” David inquires. 

“Kind of.”

“What’s your given name?”

“Forsythe.”

The man smiles. “So, you’re a man of peace?”

“What do you mean?” he asks.

He laughs. “That’s what your name means, you didn’t know?”

“No,” he says unironically.

“Ah well, I’m just being nosey,” he says, chuckling. “Don’t mind me. I’ll be in the front if you need anything.”

The old man disappears and leaves Jughead alone in the room. “Here goes nothing,” he says to himself. He pulls his leather jacket off, lays it on a top shelf, and rolls up his sleeves. He goes over to the radio, dials the meter up, and a tune begins to play, “And I would do anything for love, oooo, I would do anything for love…” 

Jughead roles his eyes. “Seriously,” he says aloud, like the universe is playing a trick on him.

He sighs, runs his hands through his hair, and goes to work. 

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Jughead is still hauling boxes onto the shelves when the old man reappears a bit later.

“I thought you might be hungry,” he says, holding up a bag of take out. “I’ll be up front assisting a customer if you need me.”

“Hungry?”

“Yes,” he says, “it’s already past noon.”

“Oh.” Jughead pulls his phone out of his pocket and checks it. “I didn’t realize it had been three hours.” His phone shows a missed call from Betty and a couple of text messages from her and his friends.

The man chuckles. “Like I said, I thought you might be hungry.”

He disappears again, and Jughead puts another box on the shelf before shaking the dust off his hands. He rubs his palms against his jeans and goes over to inspect the takeout. He’s surprised when he opens it and finds garlic bread and lasagna at the bottom of the bag, his favorite. He grins and pulls the contents out of the bag. He looks around the room for a place to sit and goes over to the open desk near the window.

He sets the food on the desk, pulls his phone from his jean pocket, and sends Betty a couple of quick texts. He doesn’t want her worrying, but he also doesn’t want her asking too many questions either. Plus, he reasons, how would he even explain to her why he’s in Bethel Bridge?

He takes a bite of food and stares out the window. The clouds are out now, and the sun is reaching beyond the meadow. A couple of rather determined mockingbirds make their way over to the window, flapping their wings noisily in the air, pecking against the glass as they fly higher and higher. The sunlight streams into the window as the birds fly past him, shining its light into his irises and into the room behind him. The metals on the antiques behind him glimmer as the sun hits them from every angle, causing the room to look more like a Moroccan riad instead of storage room.

“Hey, Forsythe.” The old man pops his head into the room near the door.

He turns around at his desk mid bite. “Hm?”

“Is it good?” he asks.

Jughead nods.

“It’s from Gianni’s, that place never fails. Do you want some coffee?”

Jughead swallows. “Er, yes,” he says clearing his throat.

The man brings him a mug of piping hot coffee and places it on his desk in front of him. “Let me know if you need anything,” he says. “I’m working on an order right now, but it shouldn’t take long.” David walks back out into the main area of the shop, leaving Jughead alone with his own thoughts.

Jughead grins and takes a swig of the hot coffee – it tastes perfect. He wonders how the man seems to know everything that he likes, including the fact that he likes his coffee black with no cream, and just a pinch of sugar, but he dismisses the thought, attributing it to either a mere coincidence, or sheer dumb luck.

At any rate, he’s glad that he’s having his afternoon coffee around the exact same time he has it every day, lest he get a rather ill-timed headache.

He takes another bite of lasagna and stares out the window again – he smiles.

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After seven long hours, his labor of love is finally completed.

Although it was not mentally satiating in the way that writing and editing are per se, there was something thoroughly satisfactory about working for the woman he loves. It felt almost primitive, and Jughead surprises even himself with the thought.

Satisfied with his own handiwork, he grins and takes a step back, wiping the sweat from his brow with his plaid overshirt. His chest is heaving up and down as he breathes in and out. He feels like he needs a long, hot shower and a quiet nap until Tuesday, but, nevertheless, its done. 

“I told you it would take all day,” the old man says, appearing in the door frame a few seconds later.

“I honestly didn’t believe you.” He turns to look at him.

He chuckles. “I know. Come on.” David nods his head and turns his body in the direction of the front of the store. 

Jughead watches as he rummages around his desk for something. He finds whatever he’s looking for, places it in a bag, and turns to face him.

“Here you go,” he says casually, handing him the bag.

His brow furrows. “What’s this?”

“Open it.” 

Jughead pulls a velvet box out of the bag and pops it open.

“It’s yours,” he says. 

“I…what?” Jughead says, staring at the ring in disbelief. “You can’t, I…”

“Sure, I can. I own the store. So,” he says, “was it worth it?”

“I can’t take this,” Jughead whispers quietly.

“Of course you can. Besides,” he explains, “it’s a whole lot cheaper than having surgery again on my back. Plus, my friend who normally helps me out here has been out on sick leave, so you just did me a huge favor.”

Jughead stares at the ring and looks up at him. “I don’t know what to say.”

“Take it,” he says. “Then come back and tell me how it goes.”

“It’s just, I never…” 

“You’re not used to people doing nice things for you, are you?”

“No,” he admits sadly.

“I understand, but listen, my son is paid quite handsomely by that university, and let me tell you, he always takes me on the nicest vacations every year, so, really, this is just my way of paying it forward.”

“Are you sure?” he whispers. 

“Of course, I’m sure. Now come back and see me again some time,” he says. “Alright?”

“I will. I promise.” 

Jughead walks towards the door, his head still spinning. He exits the shop and steps outside, listening as the bells tinkle above his head as he shuts the door. 

He stares at the bag, grins and begins the long walk back to his motorcycle.

The sun is beginning to set now, and he stares at the sky, he sees nearly every color painted across it – amber, violet, fuchsia, and red. He can practically feel the colors as his heart pounds beneath his chest. This is all feeling very real now, and he can’t believe he’s actually doing this.

His heart feels every emotion as he crosses the street, passing by the coffee shop from earlier which is now closed. He jogs across the street and reaches his bike right as the sun sets. He throws one leg over his motorcycle and puts his helmet on. The box feels heavy in his coat pocket in the best kind of way. His motorcycle disappears into the sunset as one final color paints the skyline: gold.

Once he is gone, the day turns and dusk leaves, fiery colors and all.

Night bleeds down from the mountain, cascading into the valley below. A hush falls on the town, and soon, very soon, there’s a bright, full moon taking its proper place in the sky. 

As if in a dream, the town disappears behind the shadow of night, never to be seen again until its rightful heir returns. 

A boy with a dream.

A youth with a vision. 

A man with an inheritance bequeathed from the skies.

A man, whose real name means – and is – peace. 

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Jughead returns to campus late in the evening.

The skyline above the campus is a deep shade of blue, and the buildings beneath it look like castles on the hillside, bright and glistening in the dark. 

As Jughead walks back to his dorm, the moon dips below the main building, disappearing beneath the spires on the rooftop, before resurfacing again as he walks up the hill. It looks like a buoy suspended in violet waters, bobbing against the tide of the night. It sinks as the tether of midnight tugs it away, pulling it down, down, down, until a mere sliver of the saffron orb is barely visible from beneath the hill.

Soon, Jughead reaches the threshold of his humble abode, and the yellow moon’s smile, smiles no more.

Jughead disappears inside and shuts the door behind him. He reaches his dorm in no time at all and sends Betty a couple of quick texts explaining that his “errand” took longer than he anticipated, but that he will see her soon, and not to worry.

She responds by telling him she loves him – always, endlessly – and that she is going to sleep – he grins.

Jughead shuts the door behind him and kicks off his boots. He hangs his leather jacket on a coat hook by the door and goes over to his bed. He pulls the ring from his pocket, grins, and tosses the velvet box onto his comforter. He pushes his back against the headboard behind him, studying the ring in the light. He marvels at the tiny cuts all around the stone, and it dazzles as he holds it against the light.

He can hear the crickets chirping outside, and the sound of the fireflies flitting across the grass. The night feels like a dream, and as he sighs, his eyes linger on the diamond.

The real treasure, he knows, isn’t the diamond itself, it’s what comes with it.

He places it back in the box so as not to misplace it, grabs the old leather spiral on his nightstand and begins to write:

_The flowers were like daisies of the morning_

_Drifting in a dream of white_

_As the sun trickled down from the river_

_Streaming into the hills its light_

He pauses and reads that last line. He wonders is this place exists somewhere, a place where spring is as endless as the day is long. Where valleys go on for miles and the grass never withers and the flowers never fade. Where words go on forever, encircling him and his creation with endless promises of love and light.

Jughead sighs longingly. He crosses his legs together, considering what else to write. It’s late and the last thing he wants is to be up all night again writing, especially when he has other plans. 

He sweeps his thumb across his brow, leaving it pressed at the crease where the arch at his right eyebrow is. He is thinking about the best way to propose to Betty. He swipes the ring from his bed and stares at it again. Whatever he does, it has to be memorable. He doesn’t want her to think he did it on a whim – it has to mean something more. 

And he certainly doesn’t want her to think he did it just to make her feel better, because, for him, it’s always been about her.

This, he decides, albeit begrudgingly, might just be a job for Veronica Lodge.

He puts the ring on his nightstand, combs his hair away from his face, and begins to write again. He writes with an ardent fervor – its almost feverish, this writing – as the words begin to flow like a river, down and out of the ink. They spill onto the paper like thoughts of life, flowing in and out of his mind and onto the paper. 

...

tbc.


	2. the veil to forever

All this time  
We were waiting for each other  
All this time  
I was waiting for you  
We got all these words  
Can't waste them on another  
So I'm straight in a straight line  
Running back to you

"All This Time" - One Republic 

* * *

Jughead gets up extra early the next morning, waking at the crack of dawn so that he can avoid bumping into Betty before he has a chance to talk to Veronica alone.

But wherever Veronica is, Archie is usually not far behind.

So, it is no surprise to him when he goes to her dorm room and finds that Archie is already there. He’s already dressed for class – he’s in his full school uniform, and is eating breakfast at her desk, while Veronica is nowhere to be seen. 

The door is open, but he knocks on it anyways to get Archie’s attention.

“Do you ever stop eating?” he says, teasingly.

He grins. “I have to maintain my weight for wrestling practice, you know that.”

“I know. My question was merely rhetorical.”

“Hey, Jughead,” Archie says mid bite, “you’re here early, man. What’s up?”

“I’m looking for Veronica,” he replies.

“Ronnie?” Archie looks at him curiously. “At the crack of dawn?”

“I know its early, but…” He crosses his arms. “I need her help with something.”

Archie takes a final bite of his bagel and dusts the crumbs off his hands. “She’s not here,” he says. “I just let myself in a few minutes ago.”

“Do you know when she’ll be back?”

Archie doesn’t get a chance to respond because Veronica appears in the doorway a second later. “Sorry I didn’t pick up, Arch, I went into town to get myself a soymilk latte.” She sees Jughead in the room as she takes a sip of her drink. “Oh, Jughead, I didn’t see you there,” she says. “You’re here early, what did I miss?”

He grins. “Nothing,” he says.

“Hey, Jug,” Archie says, looking him up and down. “Flex for me, man.”

Jughead looks at him incredulously. “What?” 

“Flex your arms.” 

Jughead sighs and rolls his eyes. “I’m only doing this once,” he tells him flatly, flexing one arm tightly.

“Your muscles look huge, man. Ronnie, look at his arms.”

Jughead drops his arm.

“I told you that working out would be worth it,” he says, taking another bite of his breakfast.

“I mean, I won’t deny that it’s helped with my concentration,” he accedes. “But I didn’t come here so you could gawk at my muscles, Archie.” 

Veronica takes another sip of her drink and places it on her desk with her purse. “Well,” she says, “I’m about to fix my hair before class, so if you two need something, you better ask now.”

Jughead drops his book bag in the corner of the room. “Wait,” he says.

Veronica adjusts the rings on her left hand and tucks a strand of hair behind her ears. She waits, watching as Jughead pulls something from his pocket.

“I need your help,” he says, “and I guess while you’re here Archie, I need yours to.”

“Help with what?” Archie says, imbibing the last of his orange juice.

Veronica looks intrigued. “You’ve never asked for my help before,” she says bluntly. “I thought you liked doing everything by yourself,” she says, grinning. “It’s part of your persona, or whatever you call that mysterious loner aesthetic you cling so tightly to.”

“That’s because I’ve never done something like this before, and its important.”

“That something being what?”

Jughead takes a deep breath and pops open the mahogany velvet case. A hush falls over the room as Veronica’s eyes widen and Archie stares at him and the ring, mouth agape.

“This.” He doesn’t feel the need to explain anything further.

“Woah.” Archie Grins. “Jughead, what…”

Veronica puts her hand on her chest, mouth agape as she stares at the ring. “Jughead Jones,” she says aloud, “is that what I think it is?”

He nods. “Yes, and I need your help.” 

Veronica looks over at Archie and grins. “You’ve come to the right person,” she says, looking at Jughead like she has never been so flattered in all her life.

“So,” he says, “will you help me?”

“Of course,” she says. “Now let me see the ring!”

He hands it to her, and she peers at it curiously, studying it beneath the light.

“This ring is exquisite, Jug,” Veronica says, eyeing the diamond, “it looks like something I would get from our family’s jeweler. Where did you get it?”

“Bethel Bridge,” he replies.

She grins. “You went there to shop for Betty?! That is so romantic. Archie, take notes.” She turns to face him, and he smirks.

“Man, I can’t believe your going to ask Betty to marry you. Were only nineteen, Jug.”

“Your point being?”

“Are you really that surprised,” Veronica says. “We both know Jughead has been head over heels for Betty since he met her.”

“I…yeah.” He grins.

“Anyways,” she says. “Back to planning. What are you thinking?”

“I kind of want it to be…private,” he replies.

“Why don’t you propose to her in the mountains? You could do it in town where you got the ring!”

He scratches his head awkwardly. “That might work. Now, there’s just the matter of when.”

“What about Friday? We won’t be in class and I can enlist Archie’s help.”

“My help?”

“For moral support,” she tells him.

“Friday works for me,” Jughead says. “But how will I do this without ruining the surprise?”

“Well don’t tell her anything, obviously.”

“I’ll try not to, but I’ve never been very good at hiding my feelings from her,” he admits.

“It’s only for a few days,” Veronica says. “Just be your usual introverted self.”

“Funny,” he says. “But seriously, though, how am I going to pull this off?”

“Plan on taking her out for a date Friday. That will give me just enough time to get everything ready.”

“Can I ask what you’re thinking of doing?”

“Something exceptionally romantic…and private,” she says emphatically. “Exactly as you described.”

“You don’t need my help?” 

“No,” she says. “I mean, unless you plan on shopping for outdoor decorations with me this week after class.”

A look of confusion flits across his face. “Why do we need outdoor decorations?”

Veronica gives him a look. “Do you want my help or not?”

“Of course,” he says.

“Then trust me and say no more.”

“I’m…getting there.”

“Jughead.”

“What? Sorry.” He sighs. “Look, it was hard for me to even come here and ask you this.”

“I have the perfect thing,” she says to reassure him. “Just let me handle the details, Jughead.”

“Should I be worried?”

She shakes her head. “All you need to do is show up.”

Jughead glances at his wristwatch. “I have to get to class,” he says suddenly, grabbing his bag from the floor.

Veronica hands him the ring, which he puts back in the box and shoves in his pocket.

“Listen,” he says, “while I’m not one for event planning, and you and I are polar opposites, Veronica, for whatever reason I’m just going to trust you.”

She smiles. “That means a lot, Jughead.”

“Oh, and one more thing. Don’t tell Betty, okay?”

“Wouldn’t dream of it.”

“I have to run. See you both later.”

“Bye, Jug,” Archie replies.

Jughead disappears down the hallway. Unfortunately, he is in such a hurry that he doesn’t realize his notebook has fallen out of the front pocket of his backpack, the one full of personal poems about Daisy’s.

Archie is the first to notice the notebook. “Hey Jughead,” he says, running over to grab it. “Wait man –”

Archie peers down the hall – he’s already gone.

“I guess we’ll give this to him later. I have to go to,” Archie says, giving Veronica a quick peck on the cheek, “but I’ll see you later, babe,” he says, handing her the spiral.

She grins. “Bye, Arch.”

Veronica takes the notebook over to her kitchen counter and puts it on the surface. She is just about to get ready for class when she reads the first couple of lines…

Lines about _Daisy’s_.

She grins. “Oh, Jughead Jones,” she says aloud, shaking her head. “Could you be any more obvious? We’ll get you your daisy.” Veronica flicks her hair away from her face, straightens her pearls, and disappears into the other room.

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Jughead hurries to class – AP Calculus – and sits in the back where Betty is waiting for him.

“Hey,” he whispers.

“Jug,” she says sternly, “you were almost late.”

“I know. I was…indisposed.” 

“What?” 

“Never mind.” He grabs her hand and holds it.

“This is the worksheet were supposed to be doing right now,” she says quietly, passing him a copy.

He sighs in relief. “Thanks.”

The teacher begins talking, and a hush falls on the students. He starts a timer and goes back to his desk while the students sitting in the desks in front of them begin working.

“Hey, Betts,” he says.

“What?” she whispers, looking up.

“Don’t make any plans for Friday, okay?”

She grins. “Why?”

“Because I have a surprise for you.” 

“Am I allowed to ask what?”

He shakes his head.

Betty grins and goes back to work. 

Meanwhile, Jughead stares at his desk. He feels the weight of waiting. The engagement ring feels heavy in his pocket and his insides feel like a tidal wave, coasting along the path of tomorrow, and crashing, in turn, with the waves of the day. 

Even the waves, he muses, need a shore to land on every once in a while, lest they get tugged back out to sea, forgoing the shoreline all together.

He sighs and pulls the worksheet closer.

Friday cannot come fast enough.

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Sometime in the middle of the week, Jughead realizes that he has somehow misplaced his spiral. He tries not to panic but spends the first half of his classes for the day ruminating over whether someone might have read through it. He thinks of all the possibilities of what might happen if this were the case, most of which are worst-case scenarios. After gym class, he sprints back to his dorm, practically running up the stairs before being reprimanded by the resident assistant who catches him in the hallway.

“Forsythe,” he says, “no running in the halls!” 

“Sorry.”

The resident assistant shakes his head and disappears into another room.

Once he’s gone, Jughead speed walks to his dorm. He kicks open the door and is relieved to find the notebook beneath it. He sighs audibly. 

He takes the notebook over to his desk and places it there for safekeeping. The last poem he wrote was particularly personal – She Is The Spring, I am The Well – so he didn’t want anyone reading it – at least, not yet. 

At any rate, he reasons that the poems are veiled enough so that, at the very least, if someone were to happen upon them, they wouldn’t know specifically who he was referring to.

Or so he thought.

Because when Friday rolls around, he finds out that perhaps they were not as well hidden as he had assumed they were.

That evening, as Jughead is getting ready in his room, he hears a swift knock at his door. He dashes over a couple of books and runs over to the door to open it. When he opens the door, his fears are all but confirmed. 

He’s stunned when he sees Betty standing there wearing a crown of yellow flowers in her hair. She has on a long white dress that is sheer with a veiled silk slip beneath it, and the lower half of the skirt is covered with tiny, embroidered flowers.

He doesn’t even know what to say.

“Is this too much?” she asks uncertainly. “Veronica bought it for me.”

It looks like a wedding dress.

“What?” He can feel himself turning red. Suddenly, he feels like he’s out of breath.

“The dress,” she says, biting her lip. “Is it too much?” Betty looks down at the dress and back at him.

“Oh.” He can’t stop staring. “No,” he says. “I mean, its…”

“I can change.” 

“Don’t.”

“You still haven’t told me where were going.”

“What?”

Betty grins. “You said not to make any plans on Friday, remember?”

“Oh…right. I’ll just be a second, Betts, let me…” He pats his jean pocket without thinking. “Let me just get my coat, alright?”

“I’ll be waiting.”

Jughead disappears inside his dorm and scrambles to find the box with the engagement ring in it. When he finds it, he quickly shoves it into his coat pocket, and hurriedly grabs his keys. He reemerges from the room a second later and locks his door.

“Sorry,” he says nervously.

“For what?”

“Not being ready.”

Betty smiles. “You look ready to me.”

He takes her hand. “We should probably leave now,” he says.

“Am I allowed to ask where were going?”

He grins. “Not a chance.”

They leave before the sunset, with Betty riding on the back of his motorcycle holding on for dear life as Jughead drives them into town. The wind whips through her hair as they drive, gliding along the highway to forever, and Jughead has to calm himself down just so that he can make it their safely.

He wants to be ready for what he is about to do.

It isn’t quite dusk when they make it to Bethel Bridge, but the stage is set for a picturesque evening already. The sky is ablaze with the light of the sun – a pink fiery stroke of color paints and permeates the skyline in the distance.

They arrive at the last light of day, just before the sun dies behind them. Jughead drives his motorcycle all the way to the top of the mountain with Betty in tow. He stops when he spies Veronica’s car in the distance, parks, and allows Betty to get off his bike. 

Both Veronica and Archie disappear as soon as they get there, each hopping into her car – Archie backs it up, and they speed away just as quickly, with Veronica blowing them kisses through the passenger door.

“See you guys, later!” she says, waving at them dramatically.

“Jug,” Betty says, “what are they doing here?”

He grins. “Come on.” He grabs her hand, lacing her fingers with his as he leads her to the edge of the mountain. “Now, shut your eyes.” 

They walk a few paces, and even Jughead cannot believe what Veronica did – there is a path formed with flowers and tiny candles in glass jars leading to a picnic below.

“Don’t open them until I tell you,” he adds, looking over his shoulder.

She grins. “I’ll try.” 

“I’m serious, Betts.”

“I know, I know.”

He leads her just a little bit further before he stops. Her hair is blowing in the breeze and Jughead takes this opportunity to remember the way she looks – the top of her head, and hair, covered in a crown of laurels and daises. It’s springtime now, and the mountains are filled with flowers on every side. The petals sway in the wind as it moves through the grass and the leaves on the trees. 

And suddenly, its dusk. 

All at once, the evening falls. It floods the skies with colors as the sun bows out for the day, surrendering the field, the flowers, and the valley below, to them, and them alone.

Jughead feels a tingle down his spine as he looks around them – its perfect.

He lets go of her hands. “Now,” he whispers. “Open your eyes.”

She does. Her hands come up to her face. She covers her mouth in disbelief.

“Do you like it?”

Betty nods, not quite finding the words to say.

He tugs at her hand. “Come on.” He leads her down the pathway lit with candles.

Betty picks up the hem of her dress and follows him down the hill. “Is this what you were doing all week? I could tell you were avoiding me.”

He grins. “I didn’t want to ruin the surprise.”

They make their way over to the picnic blanket, and Betty tucks her dress around her legs and sits in the center of the blanket. She grabs Jughead’s hand and tugs on it to get him to join her. He sits down beside her.

“I can’t believe you did this for me,” she says in disbelief.

“I would do anything for you.”

“I know.”

Betty leans in to kiss him. It’s a long, slow kiss, and when she pulls away, he forgets what he was about to say. He regains his composure a few seconds later and looks at her again as the sun sets behind them.

“I love you,” he whispers.

“I love you, too.” 

He leans in to kiss her again.

The sun dips beneath the hill a few seconds later, leaving them in the darkness with a sea of stars sparkling directly above them.

“So.” Betty grins. “What shall we do now?”

Jughead looks around, ensuring that they are completely and utterly alone. “I know just the thing, but I’m only doing this once,” he tells her.

Betty tilts her head to the side. “Doing what once?”

Jughead pulls out his phone and scrolls down on the screen. He hits play and a light melody begins to emanate from the phone. He turns the volume up and tosses it aside.

“Alright,” he says, “give me your hand.”

She grins. “You can’t be serious. You hate dancing.”

Jughead pulls her up from the blanket and places his hand on her waist. “Like I said, I’m only doing this once.”

She wraps her arms around his neck, and they began swaying just a little as the breeze ripples across the blanket.

“I’m still sad about Vassar,” she admits. 

“I know,” he whispers.

Betty stops and looks at him. “Thank you for this. I’m not sure if this was part of your plan, but I needed the distraction.”

He grins. “Feel better now?”

She nods.

They dance for a few minutes longer, enjoying the night sky above them as the song plays from his phone.

“You know I had this crazy idea,” she says to him as they continue dancing.

“What’s that?”

“I thought you were going to ask me to marry you.”

He swallows. “You did?”

She nods. “It’s just the dress and everything, the scenery…I don’t know, I suppose that’s a bit silly.”

Jughead doesn’t respond but begins to wander if Veronica tipped her off. He exhales. His throat feels dry, and suddenly, he’s feeling nervous.

“Anyways, it was just a thought I had.”

He lets go of her waist. “Come here.” He tugs on her hand, and they sit down on the quilt.

“Okay,” she says quietly. 

“There is something I want to talk to you about,” he says.

“What is it?”

“I’m not going to Vassar.” 

“Because of me?”

“I don’t want to be there if you aren’t with me.”

“I can’t ask you to do that.”

“You didn’t.”

She thinks about what he’s just said, effectively telling her he’s willing to forgo a dream for her. She stares at the stars overhead. The sky is as vast and endless as the possibilities for their future. In truth, she can’t really imagine a world – her world – without him in it, either.

“I don’t know what to say,” she says finally.

He tucks a strand of hair beneath her ear. “You don’t have to say anything.”

Betty appears to be processing this. She sighs. “Shall we see what’s in the picnic basket?”

He grins. “You go first.”

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A little bit later, when things have been said, and a couple of things have gone unsaid, Betty and Jughead decide to do a bit of stargazing. They’re lying on the blanket at opposites ends, holding hands. The night fills the sky like an ethereal wave of blue, covering the horizon in its cleansing hue as the two of them stare into the void. The stars above their heads look like ornamental bodies wrapped in the heavenlies. They sparkle dimly in the dark, flickering as they shine.

By now, the engagement ring feels like it’s burning a hole in Jughead’s pocket.

Betty is staring at the sky, lost in thought. “Hey, Jughead,” she whispers, staring up at the stars.

“What?” He turns to look at her.

“I’ve been doing some thinking,” she says, “I can’t have you not go to Vassar on account of me. You were so excited about it, and I wouldn’t want to take that from you.”

He squeezes her hand. “You didn’t.”

“Sorry, I just…”

He tucks a strand of hair beneath her ear. “I know.”

She stares at him in the dark. “At least we have right now,” she says.

“There will be other moments,” he says. 

“Do you think so?” Her voice is uncertain but hopeful.

His breathing steadies. “I know so.”

Betty sighs. “I wish we could stay here forever.” 

They both hear a couple of crickets chirping as they lay there together on the blanket, with neither saying a word to the other. A couple of fireflies zip past them suddenly, swirling around their noses and faces. They leave tiny white flecks in their eyes, dancing as their wings follow the path of the winds down the hill, flying as the wind howls and brushes around the grass beneath their feet.

“Betty?” He tugs at her hand. 

“What?”

“Let’s go back to campus. There’s something I need to do.”

“Now?” She sits up. “But what about all of this?”

“Leave it. I’ll text Veronica later.” 

Jughead blows out the candle next to him, stands up, and pulls Betty up beside him. They walk up the hill to the spot where his motorcycle is parked, saying goodbye to the mountaintop as he climbs on his bike. He puts his helmet on top of Betty’s head, fastens it, and she hikes her leg over the seat of his motorcycle. She scoots behind him and wraps her arms around him.

He revs up the engine and Betty shuts her eyes. 

They glide into the night in silence, with the moon tucked beneath the stars, staring out at the night, and into the veil beyond the hillside –

Eternity’s veil. 

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Night descends in a haze. 

Soon, darkness covers the campus in a veil of pitch, leaving nothing uncovered, except the chapel and the main building, which are lit like fire in the night.

The campus is a citadel resting upon the hillside, beckoning them forward with open arms.

And the lights beneath it shine forth in the darkness, calling its children home, once more.

From a distance, he and Betty can already make out the shape of the main building from the road, their private castle on the green, resting upon its throne of fields of flowers – fields that seemingly go on forever.

This place has been like a second home to Jughead, which is why, he decided, it has to be here. 

He wants this to be his best memory of Stonewall yet.

They pull into campus, and Jughead immediately turns his motorcycle in the direction of the chapel. He speeds past a couple of walkways, and after a couple of dips and a mild speedbump, he glides into the lot beside the chapel, stalling the engine until it comes to a complete standstill. He parks and Betty hops off the bike. She hands him his helmet. He takes it from her and places it on the leather seat. 

He turns around slowly. Her dress flies past her ankles. It tangles around her limbs like gauze. 

The air smells sweet, like Jasmine. It’s the scent of eternity wrapped in a cool night’s breeze, evocative of a summer’s night.

“Jug.” She smiles in the dark. “Why are we here?” 

He takes a step closer to her. “Because I have something else to say to you.” He grabs her hand and laces his fingers with hers. “And I didn’t get to finish saying what I wanted to say earlier.” 

“What?” 

He grins. “Not here…inside.”

He tugs at her hand and holds it in his as they walk up the steps of Gloire Du Matin. They slip inside the chapel, disappearing behind the wooden door as Betty tugs at the hem of her dress, whisking it away from the frame of the door. The door shuts quietly, and their safely inside.

The sanctuary lamp flickers above their heads. The air inside the chapel is warm, but Betty feels cold in her dress. She hugs her arms together. 

Jughead shrugs his leather jacket off. “Put this on.” 

He helps her into the jacket which she pulls closer for warmth. Betty flicks her hair out from beneath the collar.

“What are we doing in here, Jug?”

The candles on the windowsill flicker in the darkness.

“I thought it would be fitting to retrace our steps,” he says.

“Our steps?”

He nods. “Remember my first day here?”

“Of course.”

“We sat together for the first time.” He nods at the pews to the right. “Right over there.”

She smiles. “How could I forget. You were so…”

“Nervous?” he says, finishing her sentence. “Yeah, I was.”

“And now?” 

“Things are different now,” he says, grabbing her hand and holding it in his.

“How so?”

“I know who I am now.”

“You’ve grown up a lot since you first started here, we both have.”

“I am taller,” he adds.

“An unexpected bonus,” she replies teasingly.

“You know, I never did tell you my plan,” he says.

“I just thought you were trying to make me feel better.”

“I was, but…” He grins.

“Why are you smiling like that?”

“Shut your eyes, baby.”

She closes her eyes, smiling in anticipation.

He grabs her hands and leads her down the aisle of the chapel. Her white dress glides across the floor of the old chapel, barely making a sound as they walk. Then, they stop. Betty is still grinning from ear to ear.

He ensures that she’s isn’t peaking first, as he takes out the ring from his coat pocket. “There were some logistics I had to work out…alone.”

Her brow furrows. “In regard to what?” 

“What I’m about to do.” He takes a deep breath and gets down on one knee. “Now.” He holds out the ring. “Open your eyes.”

She does, and when she realizes what’s going on, she gasps.

“Wherever you go, I go, remember?”

Betty immediately tears up. Her hands cover her mouth in disbelief.

“I’m not going to college without you.”

“Jughead Jones,” she says, her voice shaky, “are you asking me to marry you?”

He grins. “Are you saying yes?”

She smiles beneath her tear-stained lips and cheeks. “I knew it.” She sweeps away the tears from beneath her eyes. “Yes,” she says finally.

He stands up and slides the ring onto her finger.

“It’s beautiful,” she whispers. 

He cups her face and pulls it close. “How did you know?”

Her hands tousle his hair. “Because I know you,” she replies. 

He leans in to kiss her and a window to their left pops open, blowing the cool breeze in from the outside; it stirs the windchimes at the front of the chapel – they swing and sway in the night, shimmering like the sound of a harp before going still again. 

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The sun peeks quietly over the hillside the next morning, vanquishing the darkness around the surrounding campus and trees. Before long, it makes its way to Jughead’s dorm, inching in through the window. It pours into his bedroom like a vat of paint being spilled across the floor, cascading across the wood like waves of amber fire. 

The light hits the bed, and all at once, its ready to wake the prince from his slumber.

Jughead is sound asleep in his bed. He sighs as he dreams. His hair is mussed – he has a ring on his finger – an antique silver band that Betty withdrew from the depths of her jewelry box, one which was far too big for her anyways, and she was insistent that he wear it now.

So, he did.

When Jughead finally opens his eyes, he finds that the window nearest to his bedside is coated with dew. At some point in the night, it rained, but he was far too engrossed in his dreams and the excitement from last night to even notice. He yawns and angles his body towards the window, stretching his limbs as his bare feet hit the floor. 

He goes over to the window and looks out at the lawn below. He pushes the window open to take in the outside air. Seemingly from nowhere, a dove flies onto the windowsill, lands without making a sound and perches on the windowsill, a twig in its beak. Jughead reaches out to touch its wing – it flies away right as the edge of his fingertips touch the delicate feathers, disappearing through the trees as its wings sail into the sky, higher and higher until it has disappeared entirely.

Jughead goes over to his bathroom, tugs his robe down from the door, and throws it over his shoulder. He yawns and disappears inside. He showers quickly so as not to waste the morning, gets dressed, and tugs his boots on. 

He runs his hands through his hair and looks in the mirror. He swears that he looks different today –happier, somehow. In the past four years, his life has gone from glory to glory, with Betty, and his relationship with her, marking the humble beginning of his transition to joy. The bliss, he knows in part, will come once their wed, but – 

He’s finally gotten his Daisy. 

Jughead grins. He’s on his way to Bethel Bridge this morning to tell David the news and to thank him again. He puts his leather jacket on, grabs his keys, and, in less than two seconds, is out the door.

The morning air feels cool against his face as his bike glides along the highway. The sun is shining now, and the grass on either side of the highway is waving in the wind. He passes by a clearing littered with yellow flowers – he revs up the engine and continues driving into town. 

Once he arrives in Bethel Bridge, he parks close to the same spot he used last time and heads into the coffeeshop. He waits in line for a few minutes before being served by the elderly woman again.

“Back so soon?”

He grins. “I guess I couldn’t stay away.”

“Do you want the same thing you ordered yesterday?” 

He nods and takes out his wallet. “Make it extra strong, if its not too much trouble.” 

“Not at all.” The woman taps the bin on the expresso machine to power it on. “Did you find what you were looking for yesterday?” she asks amiably. “I get most of my jewelry at Solomon’s.”

He grins. “Absolutely.” 

“Good.” She rings his purchase up. “I’ll have your coffee ready in just a second.”

His coffee appears minutes later at the edge of the counter. He takes it gratefully, thanking the woman again as he blows on the surface of the brew. Once he’s satisfied that it has cooled down a bit, he replaces the lid and exits the coffeeshop the same way he came in. 

He knows it isn’t helping his persona, but the fact of the matter is, this morning, he cannot stop smiling.

He walks to Solomon’s Antiques, sipping on his coffee along the way. He crosses the street, jogs down the sidewalk and stops when he reaches the threshold of the store.

He’s disappointed, though, when he finds its closed. There is a handwritten sign attached to the glass behind the door: Vacationing Until The 10th. 

Jughead is just about to leave when he notices something else. In fact, he doesn’t really notice it right away – the note taped to the door, that is – what he does notice, though, is that the handwriting on the note is most definitely his own. 

His brows furrow as he lifts the paper up. “What in the world,” he says aloud, his forehead wrinkling.

He tugs the note down and unfolds it. When he realizes what it is, he feels the hair on the back of his neck stand on end. It’s the note from the chapel, the one that he wrote the other day – the one that he wrote in private. He’s shaking as he turns it over, still not understanding why or how it even got here. When he turns it over, though, it becomes clear that something else is happening here.

On the back of the note it reads, simply:

_I knew what you were going to ask me for before you even asked._

Jughead stares at the note. He reads and rereads it again. “No, this is not…possible.” He flips it over to see if he’s mistaken. “Surely not,” he says aloud, willing the logical part of him to take over and simply explain this away like he’s done with nearly everything in his life. But this, well, there really is no explaining this away. He swallows.

But there it is, it’s definitely the note from his spiral notebook. He looks around him in disbelief. He stands there is silence, not knowing what to say.

He looks up. The leaves on the trees rustle in the wind, and the flowers in the rose bushes nearby sway to and fro, to and fro… 

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Approximately five miles from where Jughead is standing, a mailman is exiting his truck. He places two rather large red envelopes into the campus mailboxes near the main building. Each of them contains a personalized letter from Brown University in Providence, Rhode Island.

One is an acceptance letter directed to a “Mister Forsythe Pendleton Jones III,” and the other, also an acceptance, to a “Miss Elizabeth Cooper” … 

...

_Fin._


End file.
